


Apartment 5C

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Series: Pas de Deux [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apartment, First Meetings, Letters, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pianist Ecthelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: Ecthelion is writing a composition, but an admirer in the apartment above keeps sending requests for him to play.





	

Ecthelion hurried through the courtyard at the heart of his apartment building. The sound of his shoes echoed through the walls, bouncing back to meet him as he ran. Above him, four storeys up, his neighbour, Aredhel, was hanging washing on her balcony. She called down to him.

    “I heard you practicing the other day! Keep up the good work!”

    Ecthelion juggled the papers and folders in his arms to free one of his hands. He waved back his thanks and then pushed open the doors to the building foyer.

    The elevator was still out of commission, so he took the stairs two-at-a-time, his heart racing with excitement. He was so close to performing a show – a real, proper show, with his own music. His own music! Years of compositions and half-finished adagios and cadenzas, and now he finally had a reason to complete one! Everything was better when it had a reason.

    On the fourth floor landing, Ecthelion fished out a set of keys from his pocket and approached his door. He dithered for a moment, finding the right key, and just as he put it into the lock, he saw something on the floor that made throat stick with fear.

    A slip of paper had been wedged under the door. Traces of handwriting could been seen from where he stood. Not a complaint, surely? He didn’t make nearly as much noise as Egalmoth on the floor below. Admittedly, he could get quite enthusiastic with some of his pieces, but that couldn’t possibly warrant a complaint. It wasn't as if he was a poor performer... 

    Ecthelion bent down and retrieved the paper, unfolding it to read the entire note. It was written in a messy, half-jointed scrawl.

>      _Please play_ _“Raindrop” Prelude Op. 28 No. 15._

    Ecthelion stared at the note, reading it over again. A request? Well, that was unexpected. He felt deeply flattered, and wondered who it was from, for it was not signed.

    He opened the door to his apartment, dumping the keys into a bowl by the entrance. His living space was small and cramped, and the entire sitting room area had been sacrificed for the sake of a grand piano, which stood sleek and black by the balcony door. Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, Ecthelion went over to it, dropping the sheet music and folders onto a low book shelf under the window. He knew he had to practice his composition (indeed, he had to finish writing it), but one request couldn’t hurt, and he thought he knew how to play the piece already.

    He opened up the balcony doors, stepping out to face the courtyard. Aredhel had already gone back inside, her linens and socks swaying gently on their rack to his left. He could smell her marvellous baking again, and secretly hoped she would send over some of whatever it was when it was done.

    Ecthelion sat down at his piano, tying his long hair out of the way. He riffled through his folders and boxes of sheet music, cursing his poor organisation, but knowing he wouldn’t be able to find anything regardless if it was in some kind of order or not. The booklets were all frayed and pages were falling out of most of them. Any professional composer would be ashamed of him, but he simply didn’t have the time to create harmony out of something that was born to be chaos.

    He eventually found the piece the stranger had requested. That’s right, it _was_ Chopin, just as he remembered. He set it on the piano and stretched his fingers with anticipation. Then, he began to play.

    The music drifted out of his apartment, brushing the white curtains and filling the courtyard. Ecthelion was by no means proud of his talent, or even prone to accepting praise, but he liked to believe what little skill he had brought some joy and bright life to the apartment block where he lived, in the city where nobody knew him. Sometimes, it didn’t matter that he was still unsuccessful and washed up with no money. Sometimes, it was enough just to bring a touch of light to his neighbours and friends.

    When he was done, the courtyard was eerily silent, and the warm breeze of summer came in and turned one of the sheet music pages. Then, he heard clapping.

    Ecthelion stood up and went to his balcony again.

    It was definitely clapping, coming from directly above. He looked up, but saw only the underside of the balcony for another apartment. He went to railing, leaning over dangerously, hoping to see, but there was nobody there, and after a while the clapping stopped.

    Ecthelion went back inside, a little disappointed, but warm in the heart at being so appreciated. He returned to his piano, set on practicing and composing until his fingers bled and his ink ran dry.

 

    There was another request waiting for him the day after. He returned home with groceries, taking the steps to the fourth floor two-at-a-time. At his door there was a slip of paper, wedged under the crack, the note written in the same, messy handwriting.

>     _Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring, if you so desire it yourself._

    Ecthelion raised an eyebrow at the request. A fairly simple piece, and one he had not played since he was still a student. He smiled at the memory it gave him, bright and sunny in the parlour of his childhood home. He entered the apartment and went immediately to open the balcony. He looked up again, keen to spot whoever was in the flat above, but there was still nobody there to see. Undeterred, he took his place at the piano and started to play.

    When he finished, he heard clapping again, loud and encouraging, resonating through the courtyard. It made his heart swell with pride, even though the piece was so easy. He had enjoyed playing it, and he was glad the person above him had enjoyed hearing it too.

    What a strange connection to have with a neighbour, he thought. Aredhel had always complimented him on his skill, but it was a different matter entirely to be asked to play certain pieces. Nobody had ever considered him enough for that. When he passed other occupants of the building, they usually ignored him.

    Ecthelion went to the balcony again. Aredhel was at hers as well, smiling at him as she set down a pie to cool on her little table.

    “I think our new neighbour likes you,” she said.

    “Have you met them?” Ecthelion asked.

    “No. They are very quiet. Haven’t heard a peep, except perhaps a few plates breaking.”

    “What kind of pie is that?”

    Aredhel grinned, wiping her hands on her apron. “Peach. Want some?”

    Ecthelion nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”

    “I’ll send some around when it’s cooled off. How are your rehearsals going?”

    “Oh, yeah, not bad. I have a concert next week,” Ecthelion said.

    “Are you nervous?” said Aredhel.

    “A little,” Ecthelion admitted, though the truth was that he was terrified. “A composer is going to be there. He’s looking for a protégé.”

    Aredhel gasped. “But that’s wonderful! I hope he chooses you, Ecthelion.”

    Ecthelion smiled his appreciation and went back inside.

    He practiced his composition for thirty minutes or so, until there was a knock on the door. He answered it, and Aredhel’s son, Maeglin, was there with a slice of pie and cream on a plate.

    “Can I sit and listen to you for a bit?” the boy asked, his blue eyes round with hope under his curly dark hair.

    “Sure thing, kiddo."

    Maeglin grinned toothily and entered Ecthelion’s apartment. He settled himself on the old, moth-eaten sofa like he had done a hundred times before while Ecthelion put his slice of pie in the fridge for later. He returned to his piano and continued playing, though his eyes were tired and his wrists were sore.

   

    The next request came when Ecthelion was at home. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a book, when he heard the paper being slipped under the door. Tossing his book aside, he ran to the entrance and wrenched the door open. But whoever had been there was already gone, leaving behind only their request.

>     _Liebestraüm No. 3 in A flat. Your composition sounds beautiful so far. Can’t wait to hear it when it’s done!_

    Ecthelion smiled at the cheering message and he took the bid to his piano. The balcony was already open, and the mid-afternoon sun crowned the top of the apartment block and spilled light into his sitting room, as it was the only time it ever did. Ecthelion sat, flexed his fingers, and played.

 

    The next week brought no more requests. Ecthelion did not complain, for his composition was still not finished and the concert was that weekend. But he did wonder at the absence of the notes, and of the silence of the neighbour upstairs. How did they know to keep their distance? Ecthelion hoped it wouldn't be forever. He was starting to become quite thrilled to see their scrawl under his door.

    However, despite his tight schedule, Ecthelion ventured to the fifth floor on Thursday. A ticket in hand, he strode to the door of the apartment directly above his own, praying with all his might that it was the correct one. 5C. He slipped the ticket with a note of his own under the crack and then hurried back to his flat before he was spotted. He felt embarrassed and childish. He should have just knocked and invited the person – whoever they were – to the concert face-to-face. But there was something in the romance of it. Something in the way they did not speak, not yet, that made Ecthelion’s heart beat a little faster.

 

    On the night of the concert, Ecthelion was a wreck of nerves. He went on stage to play his piece, his hands almost shaking and his heart frantic. He wondered if his strange admirer had accepted the ticket. Where they out there, in the stalls, watching him, thinking of his balcony below theirs?

    He played perfectly, of course, because he always did, though he did not win the approval of the protégé-seeking composer. The crowd did give him a standing ovation, however, and that was enough for now. Ecthelion sought no grandstanding, nor any fame or fortune. He only wanted to share his music with other people, and to have his effort acknowledged, even if it was by some curiosity of a stranger from the floor above. The thunderous applause and cheers of the theatre was overwhelming as it was. Ecthelion thought his heart was going to crumple from the weight of his happiness.

    He got home late again, dragging his feet up the stairs, muttering unheard threats to the landlord about the broken elevator. Exhausted though he was, he was relieved that the concert had been a success, and that his piece had been so well received. He was already looking forward to his next concert, though it was undoubtedly months away.

    He entered his apartment, hanging up his coat and dumping his keys into the bowl. He switched on the lights and was only given the chance to put the kettle on before there was a knock at the door.

    Grumbling, Ecthelion went to answer it, thinking it might be Aredhel coming to ask how the concert went. But when he opened the door to greet her, she wasn’t there. Instead, a man stood on the threshold, perhaps Ecthelion's age or younger, with long, curly hair like spun gold. He was holding a bouquet of flowers and, to Ecthelion’s astonishment, a ticket to that night’s concert.

    For a long moment, the two men only stared at each other, both surprised by how the other looked, perhaps, or else just at a loss to say anything, afraid to speak first. Ecthelion couldn’t help but think how handsome the stranger was, and how beautifully his golden hair framed his face and danced about his shoulders. He had a boyish face, with a smattering of freckles across his nose, and though there was something wild and thrilling about him – in his eyes, Ecthelion thought – there was something imperious too, and that drew Ecthelion in like a moth to flame.

    “I – I loved your performance!” the stranger stammered loudly, holding out the flowers.

    Ecthelion finally understood. “You’re the one in the flat above me – the one making all those requests.”

    The man nodded, his hair practically bristling with excitement and anxiety. “Thank you for the ticket.”

    Ecthelion took the flowers from him. “You’re welcome.”

    “Ecthelion, is that right? I’m Glorfindel.” He spoke breathlessly and abruptly, as though afraid to overthink anything he said.

    “Would you like to come in?” Ecthelion offered, holding open the door.

   Glorfindel hesitated, but then nodded, taking a step into the apartment. He stared about in amazement, treading carefully through the entrance. When he caught sight of the piano, he gasped, hastening over to it.

    “It’s exactly how I imagined it,” he whispered, his hands brushing the body gently, as if it were priceless. “How did you get it up here?”

    “It was assembled here,” Ecthelion explained, setting the flowers down on the kitchen table.

    Glorfindel approached the piano properly, taking a seat. Ecthelion sensed Glorfindel felt like an intruder, but saw too how earnestly he tried to keep his hands to himself, attempting to be respectful of a place he had never set foot in before. 

    “You can play it, if you like.”

    Glorfindel’s face brightened into a radiant smile that tugged at Ecthelion’s heartstrings. From the kitchen, he watched as Glorfindel lifted the lid, tapping the clavier eagerly. He obviously could not play, but he hit notes at random, looking at the sheet music with interest. It was one of Ecthelion’s many rough composition copies.

    “I’d – I’d like to hear it again,” Glorfindel said quietly.

    Ecthelion smiled. “Are you making a request?”

    “If you’d be so kind,” Glorfindel quipped.

    He vacated the stool and stood by the piano instead. Ecthelion sat down and took away the drafted sheet music so as not to be distracted by it. His wrists were still quite sore from that night’s concert, but one more run through would do him good, he thought. As it was his own piece, he wanted to make sure he never tired of it.

    Glorfindel was the perfect audience. He leaned on the piano, closing his eyes to listen. Ecthelion had to make an effort to concentrate on the chords and keys, for Glorfindel’s face was far worse (or better) a distraction than any half-finished sheet music.

    When the piece ended, Glorfindel opened his eyes and clapped ardently. It was the same clapping Ecthelion always heard from the balcony above. He smiled again, unable to stop the colouring of his cheeks this time.

    “I didn’t catch the name during your performance. What did you call it?” Glorfindel asked.

    “Summer Breeze,” said Ecthelion. “Although, I think I would give it a different name now.”

    “What would you call it now?”

    “Glorfindel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://actualmodel.tumblr.com/post/126244502008/one-of-my-neighbours-slipped-this-under-my-door). This was my first fic for this pairing because I was heartbroken at the lack of content and sought to rectify it a little. Thank you so much for reading!


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